The Strain: Another Season - Episode One - Night Hero Part 1
by Rosie Brook-Meade
Summary: FinchTV is New York's only remaining channel. The CEO appeals to find Well Dressed Man – Eichhorst, portrayed as a kind of folk hero having fought off two gang attacks (Gus and friends) and a crazy old man with a sword on the subway. What the hell is going on? Further episodes are listed in the M rated section.
1. Chapter 1

The Strain: Another Season  
Episode 1

 **Author's note: The new cover art is to back up my claim of hundreds of readers belied by hits data from AO3. It's important to me that you know I'm not lying.**

 **Also, any original characters and their names came out of my head and not from real life.**

Night Hero Part 1  
Chapter One

* * *

Stoneheart Building, Manhattan  
Present Day

The living area of Eichhorst's apartment is decorated to the same five star standard as his dressing room. An enormous television screen showing the news dominates the wall Eichhorst is facing. He is suited and appears human. He is getting a manicure from a handsome young man in a faceguard wielding something like a miniature angle grinder.

The last few days in the New World have not been kind to former Standartenführer Thomas Eichhorst.

He has been called "bitch", "arsehole", "man-whore" and a "horrible monster".

He has been punched in the guts, shot in the leg, arms and in his beautiful face.

Eichhorst scowls into a mirror as he touches the still healing wounds on his cheek.

He has been threatened with death and dismemberment and thwarted at every turn by an old pawnbroker and his bickering band of outcasts.

His Master has been humiliated and badly burned at their hands and, at least in part, blames Eichhorst who is being supplanted in his trust and esteem by two of his latest creations.

Yet, Eichhorst has the kind of self-belief that empires are built on. And it is unshaken… his urbane façade in place.

More or less.

Eichhorst's pride propels him onwards – he knows he will heal. He _will_ regain his Master's faith and ultimately they will triumph.

But for now, things are about to get strange. For everyone...

A pretty Korean girl behind a FinchTV logo-ed desk on the television announces,

'The body of unpopular New York Mayor J Robert Gomez, who was reported missing yesterday, has been found in 'The Peppermint Hippo' Gentlemen's Club. FinchTV understands that he apparently died of injuries sustained during a bondage sex game. It is unclear, at present, just who will take over at City Hall because of the recent disappearance of Deputy Mayor Leone and the Chief of Staff Debbie Burton. We will let you know further details as they become available.'

The manicure continues with the whirr of the motor occluding most of the audio of the rest of the newscast. On the screen is a coiffed Latin woman being interviewed with the caption of Cristina Maria Gomez - widow of late Mayor J. Robert Gomez.

We catch one segment of the audio when Mrs Gomez says, 'Finally I can drop the pretence that we're happy.'

As well as later phrases back in the newsroom like:-

'record low for a mayoral approval rating'

… _zzzzzjshhhh…_

'dogged by controversy and allegations of incomp…'

… _zzzhhhzzjhhhhhh…_

''...ruption'

… _zzzzzzzshhzz…_

'Other news'

… _zzzjh…_

'school closures'

… _zzzzzzszzzzshsshhh…_

'power outages'

… _zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzjsshzzzzz…_

'spoke to Governor L…'

… _jjjzzzzh._

The manicure concludes and the end of the newscast is clearly audible.

The newscaster says, 'And finally, our CEO personally requested we put out a bulletin asking this well-groomed man to come forward for an interview feature we want to commission.'

A still image of Eichhorst leaving Stoneheart to attack the pawnshop fills the screen. The other, naked vampires are not visible.

The newscaster continues, 'He has been pictured fighting off a sword attack from a crazy old man...'

On the television, there's some video of Eichhorst evading Setrakian's sword swing at Grand Central Station. The quality is much better than you would usually expect from CCTV, although the image of Setrakian's face is blurred and there is no audio to this or either of the following clips.

The newscast continues, '...dispersing a group of youths causing a disturbance behind The Yummy Dragon Chinese restaurant in Harlem.'

The next video is of Eichhorst approaching Gus Elizalde to retrieve the Master's coffin from the airport. Gus' face is blurred, but everyone else is seen clearly.

'…and even repelling an attack by two gang bangers…'

Finally, some video of Eichhorst beneath Stoneheart is shown. He is punched by Gus (who is blurry again) and he disarms Felix (whose image is clearly shown).

The report concludes, 'With all this craziness in New York we _really_ need a hero and, of course,' the newscaster says archly, 'there's an opening in City Hall.'

'So, if anyone out there knows, or has seen Well Dressed Man…'

Eichhorst's image again fills the screen with WANTED The Well Dressed Man underneath and a solitary landline number rather than the usual text and mobile numbers and email, Facebook and Twitter addresses.

She adds, 'Or if the man himself isn't too shy to come forward, please give us a call on this number 1-800-WELL-DRESSED.'

Eichhorst just stares at the screen for several seconds. It's impossible to tell if he's concerned about exposure or if his vanity has been massaged by the publicity.

* * *

Fet's Place, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Here are Setrakian and the "warriors" that have been such a hindrance to Eichhorst and his cause.

In the apartment above Vasiliy Fet's workshop, Abraham Setrakian is examining his face in the bathroom mirror – his skin is grey and the sclera of his eyes a sickly yellow colour.

The discredited medics, Dr Ephraim Goodweather and Dr Nora Martinez, sit with their backs to each other, either end of a couch. He is necking some Scotch and she is hugging her knees, weeping.

The little boy, Zack Goodweather, is upstairs in a sleeping bag staring unseeing at the ceiling.

The grungy anarchist Eichhorst hired, Dutch Velders, is trying to get a connection from a laptop. She swears, fetches the computer a sideswipe and switches the television on.

The rat catcher, Vasiliy Fet, hands Dutch a mug, obviously full of steaming brown liquid.

And then they see the Well Dressed Man appeal. The train platform scene is a particular hit.

The initial response is slack-jawed although the man himself misses his big scene.

Simultaneously, Nora breathes, 'Oh my God!' and Dutch exclaims, 'What the fu…'

Fet yells over her, 'Hey Pops! You're gonna want to see this!'

He orders Dutch, 'Rewind. Rewind! That's it - right to the top of that whole 'well dressed man' crap.'

Once again, the newscaster says, '…our CEO personally requested we put out a bulletin asking this well-groomed man to come forward…'

Fet says, 'Pause it there.'

He points to the FinchTV logo. 'Who the hell is this Finch guy?'

Eph says, 'I bet you all the Scotch in the city it's Palmer.'

Setrakian arrives fresh from the bathroom, come to see what all Fet's hollering is about.

Eph is still muttering about 'Eldritch freaking Palmer'.

Fet snatches the remote from an annoyed Dutch and presses play. 'Watch!'

* * *

The Ancients' facility

In front of a television screen in a smaller, slightly cosier room than his prison cell, Gus stands beside Vaun watching FinchTV's VT of his confrontation with Eichhorst in the sewers. He is aghast.

'How in the HELL did they film that?'

Vaun's unfathomable black eyes slide slowly across and slightly down.

'How indeed?' he says deliberately.

* * *

 **Author's note: I hope no one was put off by the relatively cold and detached third person, present tense style. Or the long author's note at the beginning. I'm a total newbie at this and I didn't want to miss out any of the necessary disclaimers.**

 **Please let me know what you think of this and the 'teaser' of snippets of future chapters that I hope to post at the same time as this.**


	2. Teaser Snippets

The Strain: Another Season

 **Author's Note: A few short clips from further into the story, along the lines of a trailer…**

Teaser Snippets

* * *

A Cajun-blackened nude Master is borne aloft on the shoulders of dozens of acolytes (rock star style) in a large underground chamber and deposited in front of a cage of humans. The cage is long but not deep. The corralled people are all ages and races. They are screaming, terrified. The Master emits a sub-bass pulsing rumble and the screams fall silent. The Master's stinger thrusts out.

* * *

 **NEW YORK HAS FALLEN**

* * *

Over a soundtrack of screams, shouted arguments, car and building alarms, smashing glass, cars crashing and sirens wailing, a slender brunette is mugged…and fights back.

Vigilantes patrolling the nighttime streets are attacked by _strigoi_ in winceyette nighties.

Suited men fight over tinned food at a hot dog stall.

* * *

 **IF THE WORLD IS NOT TO FOLLOW**

* * *

A freight plane at Heathrow has armed Ebola-proofed operatives swarming all over it.

At Gare de l'Est in Paris, armoured policiers surround freight containers on a train.

* * *

 **OLD ATTACHMENTS MUST BE BROKEN**

* * *

Dr Ephraim Goodweather and a longhaired human Kelly Goodweather are dressed in formalwear and dance, eyes closed, in each other's arms.

A gorgeous blonde looking very much like Charlize Theron wears a trouser suit and sits in an interior office talking in a crisp British accent on a satellite phone. 'The tunnel needs to be destroyed too. Get some of Nick's bullyboys on that - they should be all over it.'

Dr Nora Martinez sullenly places the remains of a packet of Morley cigarettes in a black bin bag held out by white female hands.

The Master, re-cloaked but still charred, snaps at Eichhorst telepathically. 'If you can…'

In Fet's shop, Setrakian shouts ' _STRIGOI_!' He, Fet, Eph and Nora pull assorted silver weaponry on an unseen companion.

Reggie Fitzwilliam sits alone in a hotel room, head in hands.

Setrakian lies unconscious in a hospital bed webbed in wires and tubes. There's a suited leg just visible sitting by his bedside.

* * *

 **AND NEW ALLIANCES FORMED**

* * *

Gus and Alonso Creem stand side by side, faces shocked, their guns pointing at an elderly overweight Latino man.

The beautiful blonde and Eldritch Palmer are wearing black tie and dancing together in a Stoneheart ballroom.

Gus snarls at Dutch who is wearing a dark brown wig 'I just crawled up a vampire's _shitter_ for you. You ungrateful, limey bitch.'  
Dutch rounds on Fet. 'See! _He_ got my accent first go…'

The Master/Sardu embraces Gabriel Bolivar almost tenderly.

The Charlize Theron look-alike struts into Fet's shop in a trouser suit, a blood-red silk scarf around her neck.

In a completely dark room, nothing is visible. Fet's voice exclaims first indignantly, 'Ow! Hey! OOWW!' then ecstatically, 'Ohhhhh!'

* * *

 **THE STRAIN**

 **ANOTHER SEASON**

 **COMING SOON**

* * *

A man in medieval costume in a cave kicks open a large clay urn to reveal silver-backed tablets covered with ancient carved script.

Eichhorst is on his hands and knees in his Stoneheart dressing room, apparently choking.

* * *

 **Author's Note: What do you think? Does anything make you at all curious about or interested in the rest of the story?**


	3. Chapter 2

The Strain:Another Season  
Episode 1

 **Author's Note:** **This chapter is heavy with original characters, so may not appeal to everyone. However, some of them are not truly original but minor canon characters given names and/or back-stories. Also I realise I might have needed to give spoiler alerts in previous author notes. I'm really sorry about that. The spoilers are for the television series season one and, less so, books one and two.**

Chapter Two  
Night Hero Part One

* * *

Eichhorst's Stoneheart Apartment

The young Adonis kneeling at Eichhorst's feet finishes his work and removes the face protector. Now the noise has stopped he can hear the television and twists around on his haunches to look. He watches the Well Dressed Man appeal for a second or two and, pointedly not looking at his client, begins packing away his equipment.

The silence is painful and there is no movement from Eichhorst. Finally, the poor man is unable to resist a glance any longer. He raises his eyes for a moment and they meet Eichhorst's looking down. The manicurist stands up and the unblinking gaze follows him as he straightens and walks quickly to the door. His shoulders relax as he turns the handle but it's too soon.

'Wait,' says Eichhorst.

* * *

Zagros Mountains (Modern Day Iran-Iraq Border) - 1508

A European merchant caravan of about thirty men is camped for the night. There's a fire with something skinned cooking on a spit. About half are patrolling the perimeter with swords, hand cannons and arquebuses. The horse-drawn wagons and camels loaded with chests and bundles of silk are in the centre. There are no tents – the sleepers just lie wrapped in their fur cloaks.

One young man is edgy and, indicating the security detail, says in Italian 'It's still not enough. Remember what the seer said. They need silver shot.'

An older, fatter, better-dressed man sneers 'I'm not wasting my profits just because you believe an old woman's ghost stories, Paolo. Now go and get some sleep - you're on third watch.'

Paolo stomps sulkily off and packs some small silver coins down his hand cannon's barrel before cuddling it to sleep.

Paolo wakes to explosions, screams, neighs and camel gurgling. He sits up as his boss falls across him, eyes staring, pale with exsanguination. There are two puncture wounds on his throat and a worm is wiggling out of one towards Paolo. He screams. Horrified, he pushes the body off and scarpers taking a point blank face shot at one of the 'bandits'. The silver coins embed in a _strigoi_ face melting it horrifically.

Paolo flees in the moonlight. A terrified horse overtakes him and he grabs its harness. It is a hairy-legged packhorse, not a sleek thoroughbred but it's obviously still faster than him. It doesn't neigh or whinny or nicker. We hear only its breathing and hoofbeats. Paolo mounts untidily and gallops, legs and arms flailing, until he and the horse run up against a wall of rock. There is still no whinnying or rearing although there _is_ an equine grunt. Paolo leans forward and dismounts correctly. He urgently feels along the wall for any exit. With the sounds of _strigoi_ pursuit getting closer, he enters a cave via a tiny slit. It is way too small for the horse and now there is some terrified neighing as Paolo goes right to the back and cowers. The cave and opening have metallic ore in the walls. Outside, the _strigoi_ gather and scent that he's inside but won't enter.

Their leader arrives. It is Vaun but less scarred than the vampire we know.

Telepathically, he orders the others, _Silver! Stay for as long as you can. We can always track him later._

Paolo finds a clay urn, almost completely buried at the back of the cave. It's as big as he is. He kicks it open and discovers a stash of tablets covered with Sumerian script and bound back and edges with silver.

* * *

Boerum Hill, Brooklyn Present Day

A red-haired Irish American is at home trying to persuade his African American wife and adorable mixed race children to pack and leave.

The man says, 'Come on Loretta, honey, I can't do this unless I know that you and the kids are safe in Jersey.'

Loretta replies, 'What I can't figure is why you gotta do this at _all_.'Then she pleads, 'Why won't you come to Alisha's with us?'

Her husband is determined, 'I want to take back my city from the thugs and looters.'He starts to enthuse, 'No badges, no copcams, no Internal Affairs just guilt-free punk bashing. The whole precinct is doing the same.'

Loretta begins to get suspicious. 'Mmm-hmm – does that include Lena Bartoli?'

The man tries to be nonchalant. 'Well, yes I think the Captain said she would be leading us…'

Loretta is suddenly lit up. 'He-y-ell No! You're just jealous of this Bruce Wayne character aren't you?'She indicates the image of Eichhorst the Well Dressed Man currently being shown on FinchTV and continues, 'Stephen James Collins. You are too old for this shit! And good luck fighting evil without your gun.'

She grabs Steve's sidearm and storms out to pack it.

5-year-old Michael runs towards her asking 'Is Daddy going to be Judge Dredd or Batman?'

'Neither baby. Daddy's coming to Auntie Alisha's with us,' replies Loretta.

Steve turns away and whispers, 'Nope. Daddy's gonna be Jim Gordon.'

Unfortunately for him 8-year-old Katie is just coming in and overhears.

'MOM! Guess what Dad just said….'

* * *

Midtown Manhattan - Present 

In a skyscraper, the roof and sides of which are bristling with communications masts, satellite dishes, solar panels and wind turbines, there is a windowless, well-appointed office with a bank of TV screens showing various news channels around the world.

A stunning blonde woman sits there wearing a beautifully tailored trouser suit with polo neck and high heels. She looks almost exactly like Charlize Theron. Her hair is in a smart up-do but not too much time has been spent on it. She is wearing white gloves like the Queen. There's a silver-coloured metal locket around her throat resting on the polo neck. The locket is a flattened oval shape and about the size of a man's thumb print.

She is rewinding, fast-forwarding, pausing and generally scrutinising the footage of Well Dressed Man and especially the people fighting him. She's alone. There's a digital photo frame on her desk currently showing a smiling blonde girl who looks about five years old.

Her tablet chirps – the text of the email is not seen but she smiles and dashes off a reply.

Now the photo frame is showing a family group – no one looks like our blonde. There's an elderly lady, a man in his sixties, a middle aged woman and two young men in their twenties or early thirties – the older one looks exactly like Tom Hiddleston, the younger more like a blond Ben Whishaw. They are all blond or white-haired and all good-looking and smiling. In front of the older man there is a cake with candles showing the number "70". The woman's eye is caught by this shot and she picks up the frame and taps the side to hold the current image. Close up, a date stamp of "25.08.89" is visible. And, along with the blond, there are piercing blue eyes all round. The woman smiles wistfully as she gazes at the picture and absently rolls the locket around in her gloved fingers.

She remembers...

* * *

Hoek van Holland 1989

A huge car ferry is in the background as a much younger version of the suited lady (looking not dissimilar to Amber Heard) is wearing jeans, DMs, backpack and a ponytail. She disembarks looking for someone to pick her up. It is a blazingly sunny day.

The Tom Hiddleston lookalike from the photograph is similarly attired and holding a board saying 'Sandra Edwards'. He smiles as he spots the young woman. He approaches and it is obviously a first but cordial meeting.

They giggle a bit and get their greetings mixed up. Sandra has a cut glass English accent. Her new friend has a slight Dutch accent.

Eventually the young man is the first to regain composure and he extends a hand. 'Hi. I'm Cornelius Henke – Corey if you can't stifle a laugh otherwise…'

Sandra smiles as she shakes it, 'Sandra Edwards - as you know,' indicating his placard.

They're a bit shy and awkward with each other.

Corey asks, 'Did you have a good crossing?'

'Yes, thank you – great weather, really calm seas. Thanks for coming all this way to pick me up, by the way. I could easily have got the train to Maastricht.'

'It's my pleasure. You'd rather sail, or train, than fly then, I take it.'

'Yes – much rather. I do fly - I mean you can't get the ferry to places like Australia…but I'd prefer to avoid all that airport stress and waiting and baggage restrictions and stuff, if I can.'

Corey says, 'You must be looking forward to the Tunnel opening, then?'

Sandra replies enthusiastically, 'Oh absolutely! Can you imagine it – lunch in London and dinner in Paris? My ex is a vet and he's totally against it - says it's gonna let rabies and all kinds of nasty diseases into the country…'

Corey grins, 'And, let me guess, you like the idea of it all the more cos he hates it?'

Sandra grins up at him, 'Yeah – something like that.'

'And thanks for speaking English. I speak a little Dutch and German but nothing like as well as you.' she adds.

'Don't mention it. Can I take your luggage?'

Sandra hands it over with a gracious "Thank you" rather than the usual "I can manage".

They walk side by side in silence for a while.

'You're a lot younger than I imagined for a reporter.' Corey comments.

'Oh – er yes.' She cringes with embarrassment. 'Yeah, sorry about that – look, I'm not really a journalist yet. I didn't think you'd let me come along if you knew I was only eighteen. I'm on a gap year before going to Boston to study journalism next autumn. But I do have a special interest in Eastern European folklore, and I can't wait to talk to your contact.' There's a pause. 'You're a lot younger, as well, and blonder, than I imagined for a Mossad agent,' she says.

'Well, I'm not directly employed – I'm just trained by and affiliated with them for this type of case.' Corey explains candidly. 'I _am_ Jewish by ancestry and tradition but I guess lots of blue-eyed Dutch has got in there over the centuries. It helps sometimes when getting closer to the marks.' He shrugs and pauses. 'And this assignment is very important to me too. Nazis killed my great grandfather and tried to rape my great grandmother.'

'Oh. I'm so sorry,' says Sandra. A pause.'Your _great_ grandparents? It was my grandparents' war,' she says.

'Yeah. We breed early in my family.' He shrugs and grins. 'Well, 'til my brother and me – as our mother is never shy to point out.'

Sandra goes on. 'My granddad was there at the liberation of Belsen. He never talked about it except for this one time when I was eleven and I made a throwaway comment about one of my school friends. He made me read graphic accounts of the most horrific… He showed me his pictures. I threw up. And I cried and cried that I was part of the same species as the Nazis – never mind the same race. Can you imagine how awful it would be to have been to be born German in our generation and have to deal with that guilt?'

Corey says, 'Not all Germans are Nazis huh?'

'Well, they're not now, are they?' says Sandra.

Corey is thoughtful for a moment, and then pulls something that looks much like the present day older lady's locket from under his T-shirt, removes it and shows it to her.

Their heads get very close – it looks as though he takes a surreptitious sniff of her hair.

An extremely close-up examination of the locket reveals that miniscule Dutch script is engraved on the reverse.

Sandra reads the Dutch,

'Niet alle Duitsers zijn Nazis  
Niet alle Amerikanen zijn helden'

Then, still in Dutch, but a different font...  
'Niet alle Arabieren zijn terroristen'

Then she hesitantly but correctly translates,

'Not all Germans are Nazis'

She looks up at Corey who nods encouragement.

'Not all Americans are heroes'  
'Not all Arabs are terrorists'

Corey nods again approvingly, 'That last one's new, especially for me. It's my great grandmother Sarah's. She got that last bit engraved when I started this work and gave it to me last birthday.'

'Wow. When did she get the first part done?'

'At the end of the war, apparently.'

'That's some biblical forgiveness, right there. And a bit of bitterness over Maastricht's liberators. Makes you wonder.'

Corey is impressed, 'Ah, you know your Dutch history.'

'Just Second World War Maastricht – I brushed up before I left.'

She examines it more closely.

'It's welded shut. Why is that? What's inside?'

Corey says, 'It's a picture of my great grandfather. She says her heart was sealed when Johannes was murdered and she could never love again.'

Sandra has tears in her eyes. 'That's so sad. And so beautiful. She must have adored him.'

He reaches over her and turns the locket. There's a florid, curly letter, possibly a "J", engraved on the front. It's very worn, especially at the bottom.

Corey explains, ' J for Johannes de Bakker.'

They arrive at his car. It is a brand new high-end Mercedes.

'Isn't it funny that we're both interested in meeting this same guy for such different reasons?' says Sandra.

She approaches the left hand side as he unlocks the boot for her rucksack.

Corey chuckles, 'You want to drive?'

Sandra says, 'Wha…? Oh. No. Sorry – force of habit.' She pauses for a moment to admire the gorgeous car. 'What? You'd _let_ me drive this beauty?'

She smiles cheekily at him and says, 'Mossad pay well, huh?'

They swap sides, grin at each other and get in…

'We are both very fortunate that this gentleman is coming from America at this particular time. He is going to arrive in Berlin the day after tomorrow, to collate and curate the evidence that his late friend and fellow camp survivor Dr David Kaplan has collected on certain SS officers,' says Corey. 'And he can't stay too long apparently - he needs to get back to his business in New York or something. We've still got time to visit my family for my grandfather's birthday though.'

He reverses out of the space and drives off.

* * *

Upstate New York Present Day

A Cajun-blackened nude and wounded Master is borne aloft on the shoulders of dozens of acolytes (rock star style) in a huge underground chamber and reverentially lowered in front of a cage of humans. The cage is long but not deep. The corralled people are all ages and races. They are screaming, terrified. The Master emits a sub-bass pulsing rumble and the screams fall silent. The Master's stinger thrusts out and he feeds hungrily and with gratuitous mess.

* * *

Poland 1873

It is a beautiful day, a hot sun is shining on an enormous, classically "Dracula" castle on a hill above a village. Many men and horses are working the surrounding fields.

In the village, an un-made up Robert Maillet using Setrakian's wolf's-head cane limps into the central square. He towers over the villagers and almost over their cottages.

When the children catch sight of him, they run towards him laughing and calling to their friends in Polish, 'Come! Quickly! Lord Sardu is here.'

They cluster around him and, smiling down at them, he produces wrapped sweetmeats from his sack-sized pockets.

He speaks to them kindly and, singling out a little girl, he crouches with much wincing so he can address her chest to face. 'Rula, my dear, how is your mother?'

'Very well, my Lord. My baby brother arrived Sunday last. He's going to be called Jusef in your honour after everything you've done for us after Papa was killed by the boar.'

Sardu beams and stands up with even more wincing.

He addresses a liveried servant behind him. 'Mateusz, make sure the Baluch family get a side of bacon and extra milk each week while I'm away.'

The adult villagers have emerged from their homes; it's only women and old or crippled men. They are all pleased to see him and, while they are somewhat more reverential than the children, there is no fear.

One bold young woman asks, 'Did you say you were going away, your lordship?'

'Yes, Magdalena, I am travelling to Romania, the day after tomorrow.'

'Will you be gone long, my Lord?' she asks.

'A few weeks only. My cousins and some friends insist on taking me to hunt wolves.'

The villagers all gasp.

Magdalena seems particularly concerned. 'Oh be careful, my Lord Sardu.'

Sardu gives Magdalena a playful tweak of the cheek. 'Cheer up, Magdalena. They say I shall come back strong and healthy.'

Magdalena's friend gives her a nudge and whispers a bit too loudly, 'You'd like that, wouldn't you Magda?'

Magdalena blushes but she is not too shy to catch Sardu's eye and seeing him wink, she giggles and curtsies.

* * *

Palmer's breakfast room, Stoneheart building Manhattan Present Day

Eldritch Palmer is rewinding the latest Well Dressed Man appeal for another viewing.

Eichhorst enters from behind him.

Palmer looks round with a nasty smile on his face. 'Oooh those wounds _are_ taking a long time to heal,' he says.

He uses the remote to point to the screen with the "Wanted" image on it. 'It's OK he seems to have got your good side,' he adds.

Eichhorst glances at the TV and comments coldly, 'I don't believe this man can be trusted.'

'Well, not that one, no,' he grins, mischievous in his newfound health. It's still Eichhorst's mug shot up there.

Eichhorst ignores him.

Palmer clicks to the film currently being shown. It's "Zombieland" cut for a PG-13 audience.

'Why does he not agree to meet us? What does he hide?' asks Eichhorst.

'It's just his way. He doesn't meet anyone personally,' says Palmer.

'I don't like these films he shows,' says Eichhorst.

Palmer is dismissive. 'They're just fillers between the newscasts. Which always toe our party line – this morning's little whimsy notwithstanding.'

Eichhorst watches a zombie decapitation and remarks flatly, 'This is an illustrated guide of how to kill us. I want to meet him.'

'Oh, it's just zombies,' says Palmer. 'Look, they never show _vampire_ movies not even that soppy teenage rubbish. I want to meet him too but the best I can do is the senior execs.'

'Invite him to your birthday celebration.' Eichhorst says.

'All right,' says Palmer. 'But if he shows up, try not to make yourself too offensive. You put people's backs up. We don't want him switching sides like Fitzwilliam. And that Velders girl.' He pauses for a second. 'Or your little courier fellow.' Another beat. 'Or your CDC contact.' He turns back to his companion. 'Good grief, Eichhorst, does everyone who meets you end up wanting to kill you?'

Eichhorst just ignores him and watches the TV, head slightly cocked as if trying to work out the Finch puzzle.

* * *

Brooklyn Heights

Out on the daytime streets there is a soundtrack of car crashes, screams, shouts, sirens, gunshot, breaking glass, car and building alarms. It's worse than Big Apple business as usual but not yet a total breakdown of society. Oblivious, a casually but fashionably dressed brunette checks her expensive-looking smart phone revealing an even more expensive-looking watch. This is too much temptation for one hoodie who runs up behind her, pulls the watch off and snatches the phone.

The brunette takes off after him. She is fast, very fast and soon overtakes him, leaps on him and bears him to the ground. She gets in a few good solid punches before she gets to her feet, still keeping him on the ground with a trendy boot to the back of the neck.

'Cowardly, woman-attacking punk - you are under my boot for the theft of my cellphone and fake Rolex. You have the right to be kicked in the head…' she snarls.

 _Thwack!  
_ A scream.

'the guts…'

 _Thwack!  
_ A groan.

'the ass…'

 _Thwack!  
_ A squeak.

' _and_ your shrivelled little nut sac.'

There's an unpleasant squashy sound and the loudest scream yet.

She snatches the phone and watch back as two young men run up, followed by the slightly older and slower Steve Collins.

'You OK, Captain?' asks Steve.

The Captain snaps, 'Don't call me that out here.'

She straightens up, ties her hair back with a scrunchie on her wrist and points at a jewellery store being looted by a gang of three hoodies way down the street.

'Quick, there's some more,' she yells. And they run off again.

* * *

 **Author's note: I have alluded to fantasy 'casting' when briefly describing some characters. I hope that's OK. Please, if I'm doing this all wrong, let me know soon - I am totally new at this.**


	4. Chapter 3

The Strain

Another Season

 **Author's note:** **For this chapter, I must reiterate that all non-canon names do not refer to any real person in particular, however it may appear.** **(Except for actors described as resembling the OCs –they are all real and all brilliant.) Once again, if I've gone too far, please, someone tell me. I'd hate to offend anyone.**

 **(Aw nuts - I've bottled. I'm going to changed those first names that could be perceived as belonging to real people.)**

Chapter Three

Night Hero Part 1 continued

Fet's place, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Setrakian is staring at the paused image of he and Eichhorst on the underground platform. He is standing far too close to the 36-inch screen, remote in hand.

'When is the next bulletin due?' he asks.

'Lunchtime, I think, twelve or one, I guess,' says Fet. 'I don't usually bother with TV news. I just check the internet on my phone.'

'And that is no longer an option for any of us,' says Nora.

'Yeah. Yeah, I get it,' says Dutch defensively. 'How many times have I got to say I'm sorry?'

'And since they took down all other TV channels following the doc's little public service broadcast…' says Fet.

Setrakian finishes for him, '…This is the city's only information conduit - maybe the country's.'

'Which means 'they' _must_ be Palmer or in league with him,' says Eph.

'It's strange. Finch news always had the reputation of being neutral and ethical, didn't they?' muses Nora. 'They were always the ones you could trust.'

'Maybe they've had a regime change…or Palmer's got something over this Finch person. I mean, what is his name even?' says Eph.

'Alec ffinch-Myles,' says Dutch. 'Or it might be Sir Alec. He's British.' All eyes turn to her. 'Look, I don't want anyone jumping down my throat again but…I recall doing some work for FinchCorp last year. I never met the guy at the top though.'

'What kind of work?' asks Eph suspiciously.

'Mostly cyber security, would you believe – making sure they'd be safe against …'

Nora finishes '…Something like you just pulled on the entire communications system?'

Dutch nods. 'Mmm. And, erm, providing some software that seemed innocent enough at the time but could conceivably be used to hack every security camera in the city – public or private!'

'Boy, you really are the gift that keeps on giving, aren't you?' says Eph. 'Fet, you got any cameras up around here?'

'Only pointing outside,' says Fet.

'So Palmer's bestest new buddy "only" knows we all arrived here last night?' says Eph sarcastically.

Fet leaps up. 'Taking 'em down now.'

Setrakian ignores this – he is absorbed by the newscast. 'My face isn't seen,' he says. 'The two youths in the other clips aren't seen clearly. Only Eichhorst and some other people who I assume are already dead or turned.'

Nora pinches the remote and rewinds and watches the bits with Gus in.

'Actually, I think it's just the one "youth",' she points out. 'He's got Latin skin, he's wearing the same clothes and look…' she pauses it to show Gus's neck, '…the same leaf tattoo.'

Setrakian stares at the paused image. 'I believe I've met this young man,' he says. 'He returned a stolen clock to me. I was short with him and he called me an…he was rude in return.' He gets more and more enthused. 'If we are both Eichhorst's enemies then that makes us friends. Allies, at the very least. I think that this Finch-Myles fellow may have unwittingly done us a favour. Miss Velders, can you find out more about him?'

He turns back and views Gus laying into Eichhorst again.

'And this young man valiantly trying to beat a _strigoi_ with his bare hands - can we find a name or address?'

'I'll do my best,' says Dutch.

* * *

The Ancients' facility

Gus and Quinlan are in one of the concrete rooms. The television is on and Finch are showing a scruffy toothless old man on a talk show couch telling America about the "tunnel freaks with human faces, seven-foot tongues and worms in their blood". The host is treating him like a nutter and generally ridiculing him. He laughs at a detailed description of _strigoi_ feeding and asks the poor guest how much meths he's been drinking.

Gus has stopped fighting Quinlan now and stands quiet and thoughtful beside him.

'We can provide you with anything you need to slay the impure,' says Quinlan. 'Money is not an obstacle. Nor are weapons. We need you to recruit more sun hunters to the campaign. They must be as skilled and ruthless as you. Your only restriction is secrecy. Concealment of the existence of the Ancients is of paramount importance.'

Gus nods. 'But you all seem to know so much about me,' he says. 'Doesn't seem right.'

'Like the Rogue, the Ancient Ones have connections - even Eternals, in the highest levels of human society.' explains Quinlan. 'As you and I, they are working against the rebel and his expansionist schemes. Nevertheless the Ancients… value their privacy. Do you understand?'

Gus is silent but nods once.

'Now, do you know where to find some more warriors?' asks Quinlan.

A dark smile spreads slowly across Gus' face.

'You're thinking of the old man,' says Quinlan. 'Know that he is not an option.'

'Nope,' says Gus. 'I got a better idea.'

* * *

Sandra Edwards' office, Manhattan

On one of the screens the BBC interrupts the scheduled programming for a newsflash.

The newscaster announces, 'Within the last few minutes a cargo plane has arrived at Heathrow from New York's Newark airport. The pressurised hold has been found to be full of containers of people - presumably trafficked. The BBC understands that they are all sick or dying. The security services are readying armed operatives in full biohazard suits.'

'This incident, which is eerily reminiscent of Flight Regis 753 at New York's John F Kennedy Airport on the eighth of February, is the first big test of new Prime Minister …'

Sandra mutes the sound as her smile fades and she picks up one of the clunkier phones and quick-dials MI5. Only her, crisply English, end of the conversation is audible.

She glances briefly up at a row of clocks showing the local time in key cities around the world. New York time is 14:07.

'Good evening Alan. How are you? It's Sandra here.'

'Very well, thank you. Listen, Alan - this Heathrow business – you need to do exactly as I say.'

'Pull your people off and blow it up – sick human cargo and all. The crew must be kept in the strictest quarantine for seventy-two hours. Any showing signs of sickness are to be terminated and their bodies cremated immediately. Should any or all remain 100% healthy for that period of time, they are only to be released after walking fifty yards outside in full sunlight without ill effects.'

'Well, wait until you get another sunny day – they happen at least once a year, I recall.'

'I don't care what story you make up.'

'No. Look - just trust me. Hear me out. You've heard about Regis 753 and what it's led to here, in New York.'

'No. Not just the eclipse. It started with the dead aeroplane.'

'Watch FinchTV, if you don't believe me. It's the only one telling the truth, even though it has to hide it between the lines.'

'Not just this plane either. No other aircraft from the US or continental Europe is to land. Anything in the air en route from an island state can land if passengers and crew undergo the same tests. But nothing is to take off again from ANYWHERE headed to the UK.'

'I don't care where but preferably not the Republic of Ireland if you hope to save Northern Ireland. You may have to give it up anyway if Dublin don't play the game. They're next on my list.'

'And drop people on every container ship that approaches the UK from now on – if there are people in any containers or signs that there have been then blow them too. If you get no response from agents, bomb the ships and ensure no survivors. Shut the ports.'

'The tunnel needs to be destroyed too. Get some of Nick's bullyboys on that - they want out of Europe so badly, they should be all over it.'

'Alan, Great Britain is isolated from now on.'

While she is having the conversation, France 24 on another screen behind her shows coverage of Paris Gare de l'Est with armoured policiers surrounding freight containers and the rolling banner announcing in French…89 TRAFFICKED PEOPLE - SICK AND DYING WERE FOUND WHEN CUSTOMS OFFICERS HEARD GROANING…

Sandra continues, oblivious, 'You'll need additional security around nuclear power stations and extra extra additional cyber security. If in doubt, assume any and all communications are a threat.'

'Yes, it is that serious. Also - where are the Royal family?'

' _IN NEW YORK_? The Duke _and_ Duchess? Are you bloody kidding me? Fine. Fine. I'll get them out.'

'But everyone else is safe?'

'It's too bad Dan was caught out in Germany when it all kicked off. I just hope the new one's up to the job. I'll be calling him now. If he's not on side with everything that needs doing, I'll publish those pictures we talked about.'

'Oh and Alan. Don't think I haven't got anything on you. Make this happen for me.'

She ends the call and quick-dials another number. It looks like "NOIO". Or it might be " No10".

Sandra pours on the smarm. 'Bruce, darling…'

* * *

Maastricht 1989

Young Sandra and Corey enter a living room and are met by the entire Henke/de Bakker clan except for Corey's brother. The ladies are very excited to meet Sandra but the older lady is obviously quite slow and needs a stick.

Corey introduces everyone, 'Sandra this is my great grandmother Sarah de Bakker, my mother Gude Henke and my grandfather - tomorrow's birthday boy - Pieter de Bakker.' In Dutch he says, 'Everyone - this is Sandra Edwards.

He shouts up the stairs in Dutch, 'Bart! We're back!'

Sandra says, in halting Dutch, 'Hello everyone. Thank you for inviting me to your home. And Happy Birthday Mr de Bakker.'

'Thank you very much. Please call me Pieter,' twinkles the older man.

'Oh she's lovely, Corey,' Sarah, the elderly lady gushes while Corey looks painfully embarrassed. 'It's OK dear we all speak good English here,' continues Sarah. 'Come and sit down and tell me all about yourself. You must call me Sarah. Now, how old do you think my little boy Pieter will be tomorrow?'

Pieter says, 'I'll give you a clue. It's a big one.'

Sandra guesses, 'Forty?'

Pieter laughs uproariously, 'A bit more.'

'Fifty?'

'I'm seventy.'

Sandra turns to Sarah, 'Corey said you started your family young but you must have had Pieter before you were born!'

Sarah giggles like a schoolgirl and gently punches her, 'I _was_ only nineteen. And it's OK you can stop the flattery now. We are all determined to like you no matter what.'

Sandra turns back to Corey for explanation but he exits quickly and pounds up the stairs two at a time to fetch his brother.

A few minutes later, an unshaven geeky blond gangles down the stairs in front of Corey and stops dead with his mouth open.

Sandra smiles, 'Hi, I'm Sandra.'

After a false start the poor lad gargles, 'Bart.'

'Do you work for Mossad too?' asks Sandra.

Everyone except Bart laughs – the old lady the loudest. 'Hah! No,' she says. 'He's a computer programmer or some such excuse for spending all his time in his room tapping away at that infernal plastic box. How about you? Tell me all about journalism.'

Sandra looks guilty. 'Ah. I may have a tiny confession to make about that…'

'Come on little brother,' says Corey. 'Give Ma and me a hand with the cake.'

We follow them into the kitchen where they converse in Dutch.

Bart says wistfully, 'She's so beautiful. Why can I never get anything like that?'

'She's a human being, mate,' reproves Corey mildly. 'And a kind and smart one too.' He pokes his head around the door for another look and murmurs to himself, 'I didn't think that could exist in the same person.' He turns back to Bart. 'But she's only here for a few days before we head to Berlin. Then, before you or I know it, she'll be back home to write it all up. So some English guy who almost certainly won't deserve her is going to get all "that".'

A smirking Gude reverses out of the pantry where she's overheard the lot. 'You're smitten, Cornelius Henke,' she says. 'How long have you known her?'

She puts the cake on the worktop and places two huge number candles in the centre - seven and zero. She lights them.

Corey says sheepishly, 'Almost three hours.'

'She's special Ma,' says Bart. 'It doesn't take three minutes to see that.' He holds his hand out to Corey. 'I hope it all works out for you.'

Corey shakes the hand and bows with a gently mocking glance at his brother.

Gude pushes past them with the cake on a platter. 'Come on ladies men.'

Sarah and Sandra are whispering to each other and stop guiltily as the others enter.

Sandra smirks as she looks up and catches Corey's eye.

'It's cake time!' announces Corey, 'So stop whatever embarrassing story you're telling, Oma.'

The whole family sing "Happy Birthday" as the cake is paraded into the living room. Sandra joins in. The cake is placed reverentially in front of Pieter. Sandra gets up and waves a camera. 'Please may I take a picture?'

She sets it up quickly and takes the photograph that we saw in her office earlier.

Pieter blows out the candles and everyone cheers.

 **Author's note: I still don't like the "Meet the Henkes" scene but I sort of need it. I pulled it up to the end of this chapter from the beginning of the next for two reasons. Firstly, as a Sandra flashback it ought really to be next to a present day Sandra scene and secondly, if it were at the start of the next chapter its awfulness might put people off reading further.**


	5. Chapter 4

The Strain: Another Season

 **Author's Note: Yeah. I'm going to keep posting until you beg me to stop. And I'll probably carry on even then...**

 **This is the final chapter of the first "episode".**

Chapter Four  
Night Hero Part 1 concludes

Long Island City, Queens

An elderly, overweight Latino man sits in a messy apartment with takeaway cartons, empty bottles and dirty laundry all over the floor. Washing up is piled in the sink while he dozes in a filthy armchair. A grainy DVD of _El Angel de Plata's_ greatest hits is playing.

In a dream, he flashes back to Mexico and his career as "The Silver Angel", a wrestler and action movie star. He dreams of his superhero comic strip where he _zapps_ , _kapows_ and _kersplatts_ all kinds of enemies often caped, stereotypical vampires. He is wearing a silver coloured mask in every shot and even in interviews. The dream becomes a nightmare as his knee gets badly broken during the making of a vampire movie.

His mobile chirps and he wakes and struggles up wincing, limping badly on his right leg. The silver mask from the video and the dream is sitting on a side table, gathering dust and food stains.

He prepares to go to work downstairs. He puts on a knee brace and takes some time carefully applying an additional makeshift splint on top.

He slowly, painfully makes his way down several flights and towards the Taj Mahal Indian Takeaway and Delicatessen next door.

The door is locked. He knocks and calls out in a heavy Mexican accent, 'Mr Gupta? Mr Gupta? Hello? Is anyone in there?'

He turns away and then back again, 'Mr Gupta? It's Angel here. It's nearly time to open up.'

He goes all around the building knocking on windows and doors to the same effect. Then he reluctantly slogs painfully back upstairs again.

* * *

Fet's Place, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Team Setrakian watch the night fall over Fet's with trepidation.

Nora and Fet keep looking over at Zack. Everyone is on the ground floor living space overlooking the basement workshop/storage area. Dutch is absorbed in and tapping on a laptop. Setrakian is absently gazing out of the window, muttering to himself. The television is on, showing "Shaun of the Dead". Zack is lying on his back watching it upside down whilst playing with Kelly's mobile. Eph is drinking (still from a glass and still relatively slowly) and watching Zack as if his mind is elsewhere.

Setrakian is staring out over Brooklyn and, as he gets more enthused, he speaks louder and becomes audible.

'The boy must already know what Eichhorst is,' he muses. 'That will save considerable time and effort in the initiation phase. There might be others like that. Perhaps they can be recruited too?'

He calls to Dutch, 'Miss Velders, I know I've already asked so much of your talents. Would you also be able to find out if any of the Regis 753 victims' Loved Ones have survived? I have a passenger manifest here.'

Setrakian rummages inside his pockets and pulls out a folded, slightly crumpled piece of paper.

'I'll see what I can do,' says Dutch, taking the piece of paper and glancing at it, 'but your best bet might be to go to these houses and see if anyone's left unturned.'

'Dead munchers'd be a clue,' says Fet. 'It's good to see you back in the game, Pops.'

The doorbell rings and Nora gets up to go and answer it.

Fet stops her with a hand on her arm, 'Wait! It could be dangerous.'

'Vampires don't ring the doorbell,' she counters.

Nora descends the stairs and threads her way through the "shop" where she opens the door to speak to the caller through the grate. Or, as it turns out, callers.

Four men are there, two with bandanas covering their lower faces.

A bare-faced man asks, 'Everything OK in there?'

'Yes,' says Nora. She looks for badges. 'Are you the Police?'

The second bare-faced man replies, 'Just concerned citizens, Ma'am.'

The first one says, 'We're going door to door checking if shop owners and householders have secured their property. We're clearing blocks. Trying to get a handle on these rioters.'

The second is less diplomatic, 'Agitators and opportunists more like,' he growls. 'Making a bad situation worse.'

The first man says, 'It seems to be worse across the river but there are pockets over here too, so watch yourself.'

One of the bandana wearers leers, 'You alone in there?'

Fet appears behind her. 'Nope,' he says baldly.

The men eye him up and down and the bandana guy asks, 'Are you the…er.' He looks at the gruesome rat catcher window, '…exterminator?'

Fet does one of his upwards-only nods.

The less pleasant barefaced man says, 'If you're looking to leave town, you should go now. The tunnels and bridges are jammed. The train system is going to shit as well.'

The first one says, 'Good luck. You'll need it if you stay.'

' _You'll_ need it if you meet any of these things,' says Fet. 'Any of you catch that broadcast by the fugitive CDC doctor?'

Nora looks uneasily up at him.

The bandana-ed guy at back who hasn't spoken yet says, 'No but the wife said something about it. "Zombies with worms and stingers" she said.'

His friends turn as one and stare incredulously at him.

'Wha-at?' says the married bandana defensively. 'She don't get much sleep at the moment cos the little one's teething.'

'Well, she's right and Dr Goodweather's right,' says Nora.

The "citizens" look searchingly at Nora.

'We've run into some of these freaks ourselves,' explains Fet. 'They're _just_ like zombies with six-foot tongues. Your bullets won't help you for shit if you don't get 'em in the head. Those crappy movies are right – destroy the brain stem or decapitate them.'

'And sunlight kills them,' adds Nora.

'Yeah, she said summat about dat,' the married bandana says. 'From the broadcast - right at the end.'

Fet nods, 'Why you don't see 'em during the day.'

'And silver hurts them,' adds Nora. 'If you've got some…'

Setrakian's voice comes from the back of the shop, 'Vasiliy? Nora?'

The visitors look a question at Fet and Nora.

'My father's visiting,' lies Fet. 'Gotta go. You go get those sons of bitches.'

The creepy bandana at the back says to Fet, 'You should be getting out here and joining us.'

'I'll think about it,' says Fet.

They return to the others in the living area who look questioningly at them.

'Vigilante cops,' explains Fet briskly.

'I've just found something really interesting,' says Dutch. 'Nothing on your gangster kid yet, I'm afraid but…'

She leans back from the laptop to let everyone else see and says, 'There're some emails between Alec ffinch-Myles and Eldritch Palmer.'

'What did I tell you?' says Eph triumphantly.

'Oh. Two little 'F's,' says Fet spotting ffinch-Myles' name. 'I didn't know you could do that. Maybe I should spell my name like that. Add a little class y'know.'

Dutch smiles.

'The first email is from shortly after the first Well Dressed Man appeal,' explains Dutch.  
The email reads:

 _Exposed? I've made him a bloody superhero!  
_ _Now he can have his pick of the young and the scrumptious that approach_ him _. Where's the downside?  
_ It is signed with a bird emoticon.

'Here's one from Palmer, sent just after the segment was aired a second time,' she says.  
It reads:

 _That's enough.  
_ _We've allowed you exclusive broadcasting_ _rights but we can rescind them at any time.  
_ _PLAY BY THE RULES._

'And ffinch's reply,' says Dutch.  
This one says:

 _Fine. Fine. I can't believe he's complaining about it, though.  
_ There's a bird emoticon for a signature again.

'Then there's one from Palmer,' says Dutch.

 _He's not. But he's asking about you, so watch your step._

'And finally…' she says.  
The last one says:

 _Always do, E.  
_ And a final bird emoticon.

'Obviously, both of these guys were prepared for the collapse of the internet and have some kind of personal communication system just between the two of them,' says Dutch. 'I haven't found out very much else. He's a multi-media baron - kind of like a British combination of Rupert Murdoch and Oprah but reclusive – shuns the limelight. There is hardly any internet presence. What there is is what he wants to reveal. There's no date of birth, no photos, nothing personal at all.'

'I've tried to research the genealogy of the name,' she continues. 'The affected two lower case 'F's are very distinctive and tend to belong to noble British families. But even _I_ can't access Company House or Somerset House or registers of any kind – I just can't get into any databases that could be of use.

'His address is the FinchCorp building in City of London. And that, along with the long held reputation of telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth that Nora mentioned is all I can find. He's never been tainted with any of the media scandals of recent years – phone hacking, bribing public officials, using private detectives, close friendships with senior politicians. Everyone inside and outside of the profession respects him – even hackers to be honest. I just can't understand why he's suddenly jumped into bed with Palmer.'

'There've been no other mentions of the Well Dressed Man since that second one at nine,' says Nora. 'So he obviously capitulated when Stoneheart put their foot down?'

Fet is still staring at the emails. 'Look at that,' he says, pointing at the first email. '…"the young and the scrumptious"... Do you think he knows what Eichhorst is?'

'Maybe he thinks he's some kind of _sexual_ predator,' suggests Eph.

Simultaneously Dutch and Nora make a face. 'Yiigh!' they say and, catching each other's eyes, they smile very slightly at each other.

Dutch continues, 'One more thing. He is usually very careful about properly deleting all incoming communication and uber-encrypting the outgoing stuff. I think he wanted us to find these.

 **Author's note: Hope you enjoyed it, cos there's much, much more where that came from. It just takes time to re-format it for this platform. Rosie x**


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